A Stranger Who's a Friend
by byourladyhell
Summary: "I had a good time, I really did—especially driving to the hospital with Ponyboy." Cathy Carlson, TWTTIN This is a small story of that car ride from Cathy's perspective. [Cathy/Bryon, Pony/Mark]


**A Stranger Who's a Friend**

"I don't think you know Ponyboy Curtis—this is Cathy Carlson." Bryon jerked his head toward the boy with Mark. He had high cheekbones, a very worn blue-purple jacket, and arms crossed over his chest. He didn't look like he wanted to be at the dance very much. Bryon looked back and forth between me and the boy. He was so obviously worried about him, which I understood; the boy looked like he stepped out of an issue of _Tiger Beat_. He seemed kind of young, though, and small, but Bryon was pretty insecure and a little desperate to impress me. I liked that about him.

"Hi," the boy said back.

I gave a little nod.

Bryon stepped closer to Mark and said something I couldn't hear.

It was funny, how I still thought of Mark as a fourth grader who had smashed the ashtray I made in art class. I watched as he placed a hand on that other boy's shoulder and steered him toward a group of girls who were mean to me in junior high.

"Mark's a good kid," Bryon said.

I searched for something nice to say about Mark. Afterall, I liked Bryon and Mark was his brother. "I'd forgotten how beautiful he is. I know girls who would give their eye teeth for hair that color."

After Bryon's ex-girlfriend came over - She wore a lot of eye make-up and was very nasty. I couldn't imagine using that kind of language - we went back to the dance. Maybe it's shallow, but I loved the attention we were getting. I mean who wouldn't? My braces were off, my hair was long and straight, and I had gone off and met people outside of Tulsa. I felt _good_. Bryon was looking around, proud to be with me. It was my first dance, with the first boy to ask me out, and it started out as magical as it had seemed in my head the past few days. A fight broke-out somewhere, and Bryon didn't even care, we were having such a nice time together. Maybe coming to Will Rogers wouldn't be so bad. But then -

"Bryon! Bryon, come quick! Mark's hurt!" Someone yelled, and Bryon took off, before I could even understand what was going on.

By the time I made my way through the crowd to the back parking lot, Mark was lying on the ground under Ponyboy's jacket. Ponyboy and Bryon kneeled over him talking. There was a lot of blood. There was blood on Mark's face. There was blood on Bryon's shirttail. And there was blood on Ponyboy's hands. An ambulance arrived, and Bryon got in too.

I didn't mind that he left with him and didn't say anything. If there was one thing I understood, it was being a sibling. I looked around wondering who I could ask for a ride home, when sure enough the car Bryon had driven me to the dance with pulled up next to me.

"Hey, Cathy!" It was Ponyboy, shouting through the rolled down window. "I'm gonna take Bryon's car to hospital. Do you need a ride?"

I blinked. "That's thoughtful of you."

He looked at me with a puzzled expression that reminded me of my little brother, M&M. An expression that said, _Of course, I'm going to help. Of course, I thought about how everyone was going to get home alright._ I warmed up to him for the first time then. "They'll need a way to get home."

"Alright." I went around and got in the car.

It was awkward. He asked if I cared if he smoked. I said I didn't, though I didn't like smoking. His hands shook a bit. The blood on them had dried. I looked at his profile and noticed for the first time that his face was bruised and his lip was bleeding. I was curious about the fight, but didn't dare ask. He was staring intently at the road.

Looking for something to say as he pulled out of the school parking lot, I asked, "So, do you ride in the rodeos?"

He jumped, like he'd forgotten that I was there. "No. My brother used to, though."

"Oh. Why do they call you Ponyboy, then?"

"That's - it's my name." He said it like he'd expected me to know that. But how could I? We'd never met before.

"Sorry."

He shrugged, probably used to it, with a name like that.

"It must be kinda nice to have such a distinctive name. There are four Catherines just in my English class. They're all spelled different, though."

He didn't say anything. Just blew his smoke out the window.

"So are you good friends with Mark?"

He shrugged again. It was like pulling teeth.

I realized I was sitting on his jacket, the one he'd laid on top of Mark in the parking lot. I pulled it out from under me. There was some blood on it, too. I was about to say sorry again, when I noticed a thin orange paperback that I'd recognize anywhere, sticking out from the pocket.

"_Breakfast at Tiffany's_?" I tried to wrap my head around this bruised boy reading _Breakfast at Tiffany's_, not to mention bringing it to a dance. Since he didn't say anything, I continued. I didn't want him to think that I was judging him. "It's one of my favorites." I loved Holly Golightly and her life that didn't center around a husband and kids. "It's way better than the movie."

It was the first time his eyes weren't hyperfocused on the road. "No, it's not." He looked affronted.

I was pretty shocked to finally get something out of him. "It's more realistic."

"Holly never learned to love in the novella." He was back to looking at the road. "You think that's more realistic? You think some people just ain't capable of love?"

"Oh, I don't know. I wouldn't have taken you for such a romantic, Ponyboy," I teased. Maybe I was trying to flirt, just a little bit.

He didn't take the bait, though. He grabbed the jacket from my hand and tossed it in the back. We didn't say anything else to each other until we got to the hospital.

After we found Bryon and Mark, the boys carried Mark (who was very drugged and excited to see Ponyboy), and I went ahead to get the doors. After they got Mark settled, Ponyboy climbed in the back. Bryon and I got in the front.

Bryon turned to the backseat. "Hey, how'd you start the car without any keys?"

He was right, I realized. "Yeah, how did you?" My curious thoughts drained from me, when I looked over my shoulder to the backseat.

Ponyboy was shifting uncomfortably as Mark sprawled across him in his lap. He was flushed. Mark had one hand touching Ponyboy's face, and the other beneath the jacket, which was covering them both. There was a lot of movement beneath Ponyboy's jacket. His eyes were wide, panic and clearly telling Mark '_Stop!'_ Then we made eye-contact and both looked away quickly. I glanced at Bryon, but he didn't seem to notice anything off.

It seemed like an eternity before Ponyboy spoke up. "I hot-wired it. Mark showed me how to weeks ago."

"Don't make that a habit." Bryon looked amused. He obviously did not see what I saw. I wasn't even sure I saw what I saw.

"I never done it before," Ponyboy replied. It took all my restraint not to look back again, but I listened all the way as we drove him home.

"You're so pretty when you're upset." I heard Mark say in a soft sing-song voice. "Ponyboy-Prettyboy Curtis. Prettyboy Curtis." He laughed at his own joke.

I looked out the window as we drove further north. "You can drop me off here." Ponyboy eventually said, as we drove by a vacant lot in a very scary neighborhood. He hopped out and bolted into the night, with a quick "Thanks for the ride!" Dumbly, I thought Bryon should probably thank him, but I didn't say anything.

Mark was singing in the back: "_Show him that you care just for him/ Do the things he likes to do/ Wear your hair just for him, 'cause/ You won't get him/ Thinkin' and a-prayin', wishin' and a-hopin_'."

It was easy to put the ride home from the hospital out of my mind, when I had so many other thoughts about my first date and the ones I hoped were to come.

When I went back to school Monday, everyone was talking about the fight, and how I left with Ponyboy Curtis. That's when I learned about him and his notoriety. I missed a lot when I was with my aunt. It was a story of gang fights and saving children from burning buildings. He was in honors classes, played varsity sports, and he was an orphan. Everyone seem to think he was endlessly fascinating.

I also found out he'd just turned fifteen a couple months ago and therefore did not have a driver's license or even a beginner's permit. That disqualified him from my dating pool, when I was sixteen. Also, he was about the same height as me. The other girls were completely crazy over him. I didn't mind the idea that the cute, popular hero was interested in me, even if I hadn't actually talked to him since the dance, and he hadn't seemed the least bit interested in me.

So when Bryon came to see me at the snack bar it was easy to lie to rile him up. "Guess who called me? Ponyboy Curtis. He wanted to go out Friday night."

It seemed a little silly, but I wanted Bryon to like me.

* * *

Author's Note: I've been working on a story that explores a relationship between Mark Jennings and Ponyboy Curtis for a while. I thought it made for a very surprising friendship. That's a more delicate story that takes more care. I wrote this quickly to explore some outside perspectives and try to find a way to make this all canon compliant. Also, to run the rusty facet to get rid of some less potable word water, if you know what I mean. There's a good chance I'll revise it later.

Thank you for reading! The tile comes from _Breakfast at Tiffany's_ by Truman Capote, and the "lulu song" Mark is signing is "Wishin' and Hopin'" by Dusty Springfield.


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